Xion
by BenedictX
Summary: Alternate History/Alternate Universe, an alternate look at the X-Men. The year is 1875. The North and South remain two nations. In the western americas, two nations vie for dominance. And a new generation of humans with amazing abilities is growing. They


**_Xion _**# 1

The Great Awakening part 1 – Bright Water, Black Sky 

The valley swept down below them, strewn rocks, grey granite, broken in the midst of tall pine trees. Just below the tree line the grass was tall, brown and burnt on the ends, but closer to the earth, fresh green. It scattered seeds into the wind. In the midst of the valley, just beside the quiet stream that bisected it, lay the village, with its skin tents, calm horses, and cooking fires that lit with the dawn.

"There it is," growled Colonel Matheson. "They think they're going to set up house here. They're wrong. We have our orders, men."

"That we do," Howlett spit in his gravelly voice. He pulled his cigar from his mouth, extended his arm, and crushed out the burning tip of the cigar on the back of his hand. Nathan Alexander Summers winced as he watched it. He could even smell the sweetness of seared flesh, but Howlett didn't seem to notice at all. He looked at Nate, who looked away from him before Howlett could begin to taunt him. 

"What's the matter, kid?"

"Nothing sir," Nate said, and Howlett only chuckled.

"Ready men? Colonel Matheson announced. He stood at the front of the line of men and horses, his sword held out in front of him. Nate pulled tight on the reins of his own horse, getting ready for that sideways lurch in his stomach that always accompanied the ride down the mountain, not to mention his dread of what they were here to do.

He'd watched the village throughout the previous day. He and Howlett were the first two to scout it, and Nate, at least, couldn't see what harm the village presented. They'd been pushed out of the eastern Dakotas and here, to the badlands, why not just leave them be? They were doing no one any harm, he'd argued during the briefing with Howlett and Matheson.

But Nate was one of the youngest of these men and even he knew that his opinion counted for the least among them. He was only on the scouting mission to keep Howlett accountable for his actions, not to mention that he was one of the more expendable if Howlett were to fall into a surly mood and gut him. Nate harbored no illusions regarding the weight of his word. 

Matheson gave the command and the two-dozen mounted soldiers rushed down the slope, like a blue and sorrel avalanche. Watching the village as they approach, Nate saw Mothers pick up their children and run, men rushed out of teepees and stood, some weaponless, some naked even, with no hope of standing against this horde, hoping only to slow it enough to give the women and children time enough to escape. But they wouldn't, Nate knew, though this was his first mission under Matheson's command. Matheson's reputation was legend. He left no one alive.

Nate's vision, as it had done many times before, took on a red tint, and he felt a throbbing in the heart of him. It got worse with every pounding of his horse's hooves. It was a burning inside him that twisted at his gut, boiled him almost from the inside out. He put it away, shut it out of his mind, and concentrated on following orders.

Howlett rode in front of him. He held his rifle at the ready as the ground evened out and the village reared up in front of them. Howlett howled. He always enjoyed this part, Nate knew because on their scouting mission Howlett had confided it to him. The moment before the kill. 

Matheson was first into the village, his saber flying, flashing silver in the pink dawn. Blood sprayed into a cloud around a warrior's head, which bounced into the grass before being crushed into pulp under Nate's horse's own hooves. Nate slowed, allowing the rest of the troop to surpass him, hoping that no one would notice that he was trying his hardest not to participate in the slaughter. Howlett turned, raised his fist, and beckoned him onward. Nate cringed and waited for Howlett to turn again.

He felt his compatriotspushing behind him, sliding around him. His horse whinnied as it reared, front hooves stamping the air before him. Bile rose in his throat and he felt his stomach retch. He had only the fact that nothing rested in his belly to thank for not spewing its contents into the air to join the mud and the clods of mud thrown up about them.

When he came back down, a Cheyenne man was just in front of him, spear in hand. The man growled, and thrust. The spear went just past the horse's flank, up into Nate's shoulder, caught at his thick wool uniform and sent him toppling down into the mud. 

The world flashed red again as Nate fell. He reached out, trying to remain mounted, but he couldn't and he fell onto the torn earth. He rolled, trying to avoid the pounding hooves, but his attacker came at him again, this time aimed at his back as Nate tried to crawl away. The man screamed and Nate rolled onto his back . The man collapsed in a spray of blood and Howlett stood in his place. Thick, white claws protruded from his hands, hard and white as bone, dripping gore. 

Howlett winked once at Nate, licked the blood from one of his claws, and ran back into the fray. Nate leapt to his feet and followed Howlett through the path he sliced through the men and horses. Here, in the middle of battle, Howlett did not seem to care who he hit, which type of man he killed, white or Cheyenne. Nate knew now why they called Howlett the Wolverine. 

Matheson still led the charge, through the line of village defenders and on to the fleeing women and children. Those of Matheson's men who were still mounted followed him. Nate twisted and held up his arms over his head to protect himself as he ran after them. His heart pounded so hard he was afraid it would shatter the bones around it. It felt even hotter inside him, now, and Nate's hands began to shake.

So he ran, struggling to outpace Matheson's swarm. He watched as Matheson sliced through the back of an old woman, cutting her leathers, ripping into skin, trampling her as she fell.

No matter what it did to him, Nate knew he could not let this happen, especially when he saw a cluster of children shrieking just past the village's edge. Matheson actually smiled when he saw them, Nate noted. He was looking forward to this. 

Nate ran, trying to get himself between Matheson and the children. He felt the sun hit him with full force as at last its bottom edge rose above the hills. It seemed to give him an extra burst of strength, and he lunged, scattering the village campfire, ignoring the searing heat clutching at his legs.

Miraculously, Nate found himself in front of Matheson, the children behind him. He locked eyes with him, screamed in protest and rage. He had only his hands to fight with, since he'd lost his rifle when he fell off his horse, so he put them up in front of him, waiting for Matheson's killing blow.

The fire in his chest rushed out, through his hands, but he felt no pain. The world befoe him vanished in red-gold fire, and Nate had just time enough to see Matheson reduced to ash before he lost himself in the fire and felt nothing but the heat.

The Lady Elisabeth Braddock spent her first few moments in view of the American shoreline retching over the side of the H.M.S. Talbot. Her sickness had nothing to do with the heaving of the deck—she'd gotten over that even before leaving London's harbor—but with the growing droning in the back of her head and the vice-like pressure the constant noise exerted on her skull. 

The voices were back. They had never gone away, not really, but during these weeks at sea they had quieted a great deal. The change had been so dramatic that she'd started to believe her father's proclamations that what she needed to cure her ills was some fresh sea air and some new surroundings, which was why she'd finally left her tower in the Braddock Estate and agreed to accompany her father on this new posting to Charleston.

But now, with the port in view, it was getting worse again.

She felt he father behind her, a tickle on the back of her neck, long before his hand pushed against her shoulder.

"Sick again? He asked. He almost sounded offended by the fact.

Elisabeth only nodded and wiped her mouth with the lace sleeve of her shirt.

"Well, darling, I'm sure it will pass." He gripped both her shoulders in an effort to turn her, which she resisted. He'd be even angrier if she vomited on the pressed uniform he'd donned in anticipation of arrival. "A few days in Charleston, the start of a new life, these nervous attacks will pass and you'll be right as rain again, I'm sure of it."

"Yes, I'm sure you're right, Father," Elisabeth replied, though it was obvious to both of them that she didn't mean it. 

She shuddered as one on the sailors came closer to them. In her mind flashed an image of herself, naked, spread-eagle on the deck. She turned around to look at the sailor, shocked, but he turned away before she could make eye contact. The sensation sent her to the edge again, spasms in her stomach trying to push up into her throat, but there was nothing left to expel; she felt as if the back of her throat was going to rip away and slough off in the heaving.

"Elisabeth, we'll take you to a real doctor in Charleston, I swear," Her father sounded more sympathetic now. "Perhaps we'll find you're allergic to the Americas as well as to England." He thought that was funny.

She didn't.

Another ship slid past them on their way into the harbor, black and low, a cargo ship of some sort, Elisabeth thought. But as it passed them, drifting closer and closer to them as the two ships sailed parallel paths through the passage, Elisabeth was forced to the deck by a wave of fear and rage, and another force, one which she could only think of as a _darkness. _ She could no longer look at the ship, but buried her head in her hands and tried to block out all feeling, all sensation.

Her father bent to her side, a hint of annoyance tinging the edges of his voice. "Elisabeth, really now. This is quite unseemly for a young Lady of the Braddock house."

But she could do nothing but shudder, and bang her head against the railing. If she could only knock herself unconscious, maybe it would all go away.

"Ellie—stop it!" Lord Roger shouted now. He jerked her up by the shoulder, put her on her feet as she wobbled against him, clutching at his chest for support. 

"Daddy," she cried. "I don't know what's . . . " She couldn't complete the statement as another retching fit took her. She was crying and choking and her father lowered her to the deck once more.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Ellie . . . " he said, trying to soothe her. "I wish that I could make it all go away. Just tell me what to do, tell me what you need, and you'll have it, darling. You'll have it, I swear."

She had no answer for him. She forced her eyes to stay open, taking in every stitch, every thread, every button of her father's white shirt. It was better than closing her eyes, and seeing what waited for her there. . .

_Vomit, bile, excrement, forming a bed for dark-skinned women to lay upon. Shouts, smells of human sweat, the taste of salt and copper. Ugly white mouths, framed by boils and carbuncles, pressed against her lips. Dead infants, green and pale from hunger and plague, ripped from the arms of grieving mothers and tossed into the sea, food now for sharks._

Lord Roger picked her up by the shoulders again, drug her to the Captain's cabin, which they'd occupied during the voyage. He laid her down on the narrow bunk, rubbed at her temples, and tried to keep her from gnawing her fingers off.

The Captain knocked and entered without waiting for invitation.

"Lord Roger?" he said. "What is the matter with your daughter?"

Lord Roger said, "She's having some sort of hysterical attack. Get us into port soon, man. Get us into port!"

Nate opened his eyes onto the light—a box of light, with fuzzy edges that, as he blinked and stared, slowly formed itself into a fluttering window cut into the fabric of a tent wall. Tan, stained, with grey and red blotches, the window was not a perfect square, but uneven, with jagged places where the canvas unraveled and sent threads to waft in the breeze. The sky outside was grey, the air inside the tent cold, and Nate pulled the rough blanket up around his shoulders, finding it inadequate protection. 

His eyes drifted from the window to the space around him. It was a small tent; he was its only occupant, and he lay on an unsteady cot. His outer clothes were gone and he wore the tattered remains of his underclothes beneath the blankets. In the air he thought he could smell woodsmoke.

He tried to sit up, watched the room spin as his cot rocked beneath him. He fell back to get all legs on the floor, watching his surroundings slowly come back into focus. He'd wait a few minutes more and then try again.

His skin smelled like death, he needed to wash off the stink of fever-sweat. He was almost turned on his side, ready to try a different approach to leaving his cot, when the tent flap opened, and an impossible creature stepped through. 

He was tall, and dressed in the trousers, white shirt, and suspenders of a typical frontier doctor, but that was where the similarity ended. He wore no shoes, instead giant lion's paws padded the tread grass inside the tent. His shirt leeves were rolled up to his elbows, over fore-arms which were incredibly muscled and covered with blue-black fur. He had a lion's face, with a thick, but neatly-trimmed mane just over deep-set golden eyes.

Nate just stared for a moment, and when the creature locked eyes with him, he jumped and cried out. The sudden motion jolted the cot, tipped it over, and Nate smashed onto the ground, landing hard on his hip.

"I'm sorry, I should have . . . " The creature said as it leaped backward through the doorway. From outside, Nate heard him shout, "Doc Xavier! He's awake! Come now . . . please!"

As Nate struggled to get up, pulling his blankets around him and try to resurrect some of his slain dignity; he heard footsteps and murmuring from outside.

"I'm sorry, Doctor, I scared him . . . I should have thought about it but I didn't think he'd be awake yet and I wanted to check on him and I walked in and saw me and he jumped and—"

"It's all right, Henry, I'm sure," the new voice said. Nate was glad the hand that parted the tent-flap was human, as was the face that peered inside. 

"Mr. Summers," the man said, stepping fully into the tent; he was dressed like the creature, but was clearly just a man. He wore a bemused smile, and his head was completely bald, though he had the robust manner of a man still young. "I hope my student didn't startle you too much. I know his appearance is not something you're used to."

"Your student?" Nate said. He righted the cot and sat on the edge of it, pulling the blanket around his waist and trying not to tip the cot over again. 

"His name is Henry McCoy. I am Dr. Charles Xavier, and I'm glad you're back in the world with us." Xavier stepped forward and extended his hand, which Nate shook warily. 

"Where am I?" Nate asked, remembering where he'd been, the ball of fire.

"I'm sure you have a thousand questions for me. I'll be glad to answer them, but I need to examine you, make sure I'm correct in thinking you've come through your ordeal mostly unharmed."

"My ordeal . . . what happened to me?"

"You became a hero, actually," Xavier said. "You saved most of the women and children of a Cheyenne village from a US army squad bent on killing every last one of them. But you know about that."

"I did save them? They're all right?"

"Yes, Nathan, they are," Xavier said. He'd pulled at Nate's eye, inspected his head, and was now giving Nate's pulse a second check. "The soldiers, however, are a different story. As far as we can tell, they're all dead, incinerated, or so it would appear. The battle was over for at least a day before we arrived, though we've sensed no other survivors. The Cheyenne cared for you until we picked you up."

"I'm sorry," Nate said. "But I'm not understandin' how any of this is possible. How did I incinerate all of those men?"

Xavier chuckled. "I'm sure that's true. And there's not a lot I can tell you right away about how you made it happen."

"Did I make it happen? Did I call down fire like I remember?"

"Oh, yes, Nathan. There's no question at all about that."

"How?"

"You have a gift," Xavier said. He leaned in close to whisper directly into his face. "And you are not alone. There are many of us so gifted, and I have dedicated my life to finding young people like you and helping them understand what is happening to them."

Xavier's joviality had vanished, replaced with utter seriousness. "There's a war on, Nathan Summers, and I want you on my side."

"You're still not makin' any sense, Doctor Xavier."

Xavier smiled again. "No, I suppose I'm not. There'll be time for explanations later, when you've not just awakened from a three-day sleep. For now—food. You must be starving. I'll introduce you to my people here and you can make your decisions about the rest of your life, no questions asked. Does that sound all right to you?"

Nate sighed. He was hungry, but he still wanted answers. "I guess that sounds just fine, Doctor," he said. 

Evening found her in bed. She'd blacked out before leaving the ship and found herself staring out at a grey sky. She still wore her petticoats, brushed her hand against cool white sheets. Out the window ships struggled to make their way into port, and its shelter from the storm that pushed inland.

Elisabeth sat up. She pulled her long blonde hair roughly out of its braid. She needed to wash. He clothes smelled like vomit and her hair held chunks of something, the exact nature of which she did not care to contemplate. A bath, then. A bath would set her on the path to feeling like a human being again.

The pressure, at least, was gone. She had no idea why. She wondered if her father had indeed called the doctor, and if so, what he had given her. 

Her room was large, with a spacious canopy bed in its center. Several bureaus and a wardrobe lined the wall, as well as a sitting table with a large mirror that even now reflected her pale and sick-encrusted visage. In front of the window, sat a delicate writing desk, complete with a set of stationary already in place that bore the Braddock family seal.

Elisabeth rested for a moment, sitting on the edge of her bed. Now that she was awake, she'd started to feel it again, and her stomach stabbed at her, rumbling loudly. Though she'd feared she couldn't keep food down long, she needed to eat something. She wondered where exactly she was, in relationship to the kitchen here, in the embassy, which was where she assumed she was. 

She stood up a bit unsteadily and limped to the wardrobe, pulled open the door to find that all her clothes had been unpacked and hung up neatly. She found her dressing gown and pulled it on. Yes, a bath, and some food, then more sleep. Her only thought was to go out into the hall, find one of the servants, and ask for help in getting these things done.

But when she opened the door, peering out into the hallway, she saw someone stand, jumping to attention. The young woman pulled herself rigid and presented herself to Elisabeth. 

"Miss Elisabeth? You are awake?" The young woman said. She was about Elisabeth's height, with the dark skin of an African, but her eyes were as blue as any Englishwoman's, and her short-cropped hair glittered silver in the filtered daylight. She looked like no one else Elisabeth had ever seen.

"Umm . . . Hello . . . ." Was all Elisabeth could say at first. She stepped back inside, and the newcomer waited for her invitation to join her. Though she clearly would not step over imposed boundaries, there was nothing subservient about her manner or the way in which she stared back at Elisabeth.

"My name is Ororo," she said. "It is my privilige to serve you while you are here. Anything you want or need, I will get it for you, or I will do it for you."

"All right, Ororo," Elisabeth said. "I would like something to eat, and a bath. Could I have a bath now?"

"Of course, Miss Elisabeth," Ororo replied.

"Please, just call me Elisabeth."

Ororo smiled. "You have everyone here very worried. You have been asleep for over a day."

"Really? That long?"

Ororo nodded. "Your father the ambassador said you were sick, and that we were to leave you alone. He instructed me, however, to unpack and put away your things. I hope I have done som to your satisfaction."

Elisabeth nodded. "I'm sure you have done a fine job."

"I will prepare your bath. You have your own bathing chamber here, attached to your room. I will run and heat the water for you."

"Thank you." Ororo vanished inside a door Elisabeth had not noticed before, as it was covered in the same rose wallpaper that covered the rest of the walls. Elisabeth laid back on the bed and listened as Ororo ran the water, and she realized that Ororo was not simply her servant, in the same way that the people who served in her family's manner in Yorkshire were servants. Ororo was a slave. This was the Confederate States of America, and Ororo was most likely a gift of the government to the British Embassy. 

Ororo appeared in the doorway, and Elisabeth regarded her with a new awareness. The girl wore a simple black shift, with the British flag woven into the fabric just above her left breast. 

"Ororo," Elisabeth said. "You do not speak like a slave."

Ororo scowled, but did not deny it.

"You should know that I'm no supporter of that institution, and I promise you that I will not treat you like one.."

"Then set me free," Ororo said, then shook her head and tried to shrug away her words. "Miss Braddock," she began, her voice tight now with a rigid formality. "I know that is not within your power. But I will say this to you and hope you will forgive me and that we will never speak of it again. You just did treat me like a slave. What makes you think slaves should speak any differently than I do now?. I've been allowed to be educated, but a lot of us have chosen for ourselves to speak like free people. We will not be forced into stupidity, please remember that."

"I'm sorry," Elisabeth said. "I did not mean to offend you."

Ororo smiled now, and relaxed. "Thank you at the least for realizing that I had a dignity which could be offended. I have had many masters, mistresses, and I can tell you will be a kind one, and I am glad for that. Come, now, your bath is ready. And I'll send word to your father that you're well."

After Nate dress, Doctor Xavier led him out of the tent and to the campfire. Smoke wafted up, sending ash along with it to caress the leaves overhead on its way up into a white-clouded sky. Nate's legs wobbled as he approached the fire, Xavier's hand pressing gently on his back, guiding him forward. Getting sight of those that sat around the fire did not make Nate feel any stronger.

There was Henry, of course; he sat on his haunches, poking a stick into the flame , trying desperately not to be noticed. Standng above Henry, one hand on his shoulder, was a young woman. Her skin was a pale blue, her eyes almost crystal-white with a hint of translucent cobalt in the middle. Long, blue black hair cascaded down her back and over her shoulder in innumerable braids. 

Nathan could not help but stare at her and at Henry and at the obvious affection that existed between them. 

Also sitting around the fire was a young man—a few years younger than Nate, at any rate—who appeared to be like any other youth but for the fact that he was sending out little flakes of snow from his fingertips and watching them sizzle away in the fire.

"Everyone, this is Nathan Summers," Xavier said, though it was obvious that everyone knew who he was. "Nathan, you've already met Henry; with him is Talia, and our young friend with the snowflakes there is Bobby.

"Hello," Nate murmered. Bobby smiled, Talia smiled and nodded while Henry shakily stood and extended his hand for Nate to shake. Nate took it, tried to look Henry full in the face and ignore the predator's teeth behind the friendly grin.

"Supper will be ready soon," Henry said. "When everyone else gets back."

"Where are they right now?" Xavier asked.

"Magdalena said she wanted to see what supplies she could scrounge in these woods. Lil went with her."

"I'll call them back," Xavier said. He closed his eyes, then added. "They're already on their way."

The first woman to round the bend and step out around the copse of trees did not surprise Nathan. She was tall, with short-cropped pepper-grey hair, and wore the long shift of a nun, but with skirts that had been cut and re-sewn into riding pants. The girl with her, though, glittered in the light, almost blinding Nate. She did not appear to be wearing any clothing at all, but every inch of her skin was covered with a gleaming surface. Her hair was pulled back from her head in thick cords that looked as if they had been dipped in liquid glass. 

Nathan couldn't help but stare.

"It's all right, Henry offered. "Everyone stares the first time they see our Diamond Lil. Just don't let her see you doing it."

Nate forced himself to look away and take a seat by the fire as Talia broke away and went to join the women. Henry sat down beside him. Bobby stared blankly at the fire, still letting snowflakes melt in the heat. Xavier went to Magdalena, and low murmuring commenced. 

"I guess you're all . . . like me, right?" Nate said, watching Bobby. 

"Doc Xavier calls us gifted," Henry said. "Not sure if I agree that's the right word for it, but it sounds better than monster, and I've heard that one a lot, as I'm sure you can guess."

"I'm sorry about before," Nate said. "I just never—"

"Never met anyone like me before?" Henry said. "I'd never met anyone like me either, until Xavier found me. He raised me from when I was thirteen years old and woke up one morning with feet and hands almost twice the size of my head."

"What happened?" Nate asked. "I mean, what happened to make you this way?"

"I tell people my mama fell in love with a sideshow gorilla, but none of us really know why we're the way we are. God's joke, I guess."

"And Xavier . . . he's found you all and brought you together to . . . what?"

"That's the question, isn't it? He can tell you more, and I'll let him, but he has made a family of us. He's given me things I never thought I'd have, him and Sister Magdalena." Though he spoke of the sister, he stared at Talia."

"You and Talia?" Nate asked.

Henry sighed. "We're betrothed. We'll marry soon, I hope. Have a life together. Children. It's a good dream, I guess. 

"Yes," Nate replied.

"You?" Said Henry. "How was it that you became a soldier?"

"No other choice, really." Nate said. "My ma and my pa have a farm in Indiana. I have five older brothers and a little sister, and the army gave me a chance at a future I wouldn't have otherwise, so I ran off to help conquer the west. Never thought I'd end up slaughtering Indian women and children, or killing my entire force to try to stop it." He looked down at his hands and felt a momentary wave of nausea upon remembering the power that had come from them. 

"Gifted?" he said.

"Yes, Nate. Gifted. Henry replied. "It's better to think of it that way. 

"I've never heard the like. I wonder what my mama would have to say about it. Nothing good, I can tell you that."

Xavier, Magdalena, and Talia returned. Talia held out her hand for Henry, and he took it, standing up beside her and slipping his arm around her shoulder. The glittering girl known as Diamond Lil stopped to look at Nate, and Bobby pointed to him and said, "Name's Nate. He's awake."

Lil said nothing, only glided off to a tent just behind the trees. Bobby looked at Nate and grinned. "Doesn't talk much," he said.

Nate was saved from having to come with a response by Magdalena's announcement that supper was ready.

Lord Roger Braddock sat at a table set with silver, which glittered with the light from several dozen candles that rested at intervals around the large room. It was his first state dinner, at least the first that Elisabeth had been present to witness. 

As she neared the doorway, dressed in a simple blue dress, coiffed with hair unadorned around her shoulders, but clean now. She could not tell whom it was that sat at the end of the table opposite her father. He had dark hair, in tight curls that were just long enough to touch the back of his collar.

Elisabeth hesitated for a moment before stepping into the dining room. Her father had expressed a wish that she dine with him, but had not told her they would not be alone. 

As she made ready to step through the doorway, she stared at the back of the head of the newcomer. He turned slightly, perhaps hearing her footsteps in the hallway, and for a moment they locked eyes. 

There came a shrieking in her head, the crack of a whip. Ororo, kneeling naked and bloody on the floor. Her father, dressed in all white. _Black King, White King, this then the White Princess?_

Her father saw her there and stood up, as did his companion. "Elisabeth," he said. "Your girl told us you'd awakened from your beauty sleep. I was hoping you'd join us."

Elisabeth nodded and tried to return her father's bright smile, but found she couldn't. The man, whom she saw now was dressed in a long black coat, a ruffled white shirt, and a burgundy vest all of velvet, smiled at her pleasantly.

"Elisabeth," Roger said. "This is a dear old friend of mine, Sebastian Shaw. Shaw, my daughter, Elisabeth."

Shaw took hold of her hand, though she'd not offered it, and kissed it. It took all of her composure not to recoil at the touch of his lips. "A more lovely English Rose I have never seen," Shaw said.

Lord Roger held out Elisabeth's chair, and she sat down, grateful that she was near to her father's end of the table.

"Elisabeth was taken ill near the end of our voyage," Roger said. "I trust the rest has done you much good, dear?"

She nodded. "It has."

"Well, then, I won't ask you what you think of our fair nation just yet," Shaw said. "I hope you have a chance in the coming days to enjoy our city. I would love to escort you and your father around Charleston."

"You are very kind, sir," Elisabeth replied quietly."

"How do you find your girl?" Shaw asked.

"I'm sorry?"

"Your girl, Miss Braddock. Ororo? Does she suit your needs? She was a gift from my family to yours, born on my own plantation in Georgia."

"She is very fine, Sir. She has taken very good care of me, I find, even while I was ill."

"Please tell me if she is not satisfactory," Shaw said. "I only want to see your needs fulfilled. I was very happy to see that your father was to be our ambassador. I myself lobbied President Davis to request him when the appointment came up."

Roger smiled blandly at Shaw, while Elisabeth stared down at the plate of roast hen that had just been placed in front of her.

"I thought some time in the Americas would do both of us much good. And I must admit that I relish the opportunity to build relations between Mother England and your new nation. A marvelous opportunity, we have here."

"Fine instincts," Shaw said. "Fine indeed."

"So, tell me Shaw, tell me what life is like here in the capitol? What friends and foes might I find here? What gossip can you share?"

"Oh, the same kind you'll find in London, I'm sure," Shaw answered. "Though Charleston has only been the capitol for a little over a year, and the Virginians have been very cross about the move. I would counter that they should have done more to protect Richmond, but that only set Secretary Lee to curse me out in front of the full assembly. Quite an enjoyable spectacle, that was, actually."

"I'm sure," Roger said.

"But plans are coming along for a new capitol building, and a new home for President Davis to equal Johnson's white House. The assembly, of course, can't get anything done without at least one duel—business proceeds as usual."

Over the top of his wine glass, Roger asked, "And the French?"

Shaw smiled. "We'll talk about the French later. For now, I'm sure your daughter is getting quite bored with all of this political talk."

"No, really. I find this all absolutely fascinating," Elisabeth said. As long as they were discussing politics, they would ignore her. She didn't know why, exactly, but she was certain she never wanted Sebastian Shaw to take note of her again.

The darkness formed a canopy over them, the trees around them the pillars that supported it. Overhead, the moon lit the little clearing, meeting up with the firelight and the few free-standing torches to cast a warm, milky-amber glow on the faces of all those in the camp. Henry tried to keep Nate close to him, being polite, Nate guessed, but he also tried to keep close to Talia too, and when it was a choice between the two of them . . . well, Nate understood why Henry chose the way he did.

Bobby entertained the others by coating his hand with a thick sheaf of ice, then putting it into the heart of the fire while it melted. Nate had to admit that it was an impressive trick.

Supper was a surprisingly robust stew Magdalena had apparently been heating for days. Salty, with little bits of meat and some vegetables they had scrounged from surrounding gardens. Nate wondered how that theft squared with a nun's vow to uphold the ten commandments, but no one else mentioned it and Nate was not about to either.

Eventually, the easy mood around camp vanished. This coincided with a hushed, huddled conversation between Xavier and Talia, as the rest of them made their way toward their own tents. As the group broke into disparate clumps, Nate found himself sitting alone, wondering where he was supposed to go. 

Henry found him there, said, "You can share a tent with me and Bobby tonight. Your sick tent will be given back to Magdalena and the girls, so we can have a roof over us tonight. But I will miss the starlight. 

"All right," Nate said, standing, as Bobby slipped inside the little tent ahead of Henry and Nate.

But before Nate could follow him, he heard Xavier's voice, calling out his name. Nate exchanged a look with Henry, then went to Xavier.

"Nathan," Xavier said. "I know this will be much to ask of you, but my people and I have a task tomorrow—we have to rescue one of our own."

"My brother," Talia added. "His name is Kurt, and he has been taken by an evil man."

"Nathan, have you ever heard of J.T. Putnam and his Ring of Wonders?" Xavier asked. 

Nate shook his head. "Can't say as I have."

"He travels the plains with his circus, stopping in little towns and villages to entertain the people there, and make a nice profit off them in the bargain. He does this by kidnapping the gifted, forcing them to perform for him."

"He took your brother?" Nate asked Talia.

"Yes." She nodded. "He looks like me, to answer the question you are too polite to ask."

Nate nodded.

"He forces him to perform on the high wire, the trampoline, the bars, and the ropes, and they call him the Blue Devil. He has been gone over a year, and we have just now found him again."

"Tomorrow, Nate," Xavier said, "We're going to the village of Bright Water, where the Ring of Wonders will perform. We plan to liberate Kurt, as well and any others who are being held against their will."

"You want my help?"

"We do . . . but not against your will, of course."

"I don't know what I would do, Doctor Xavier, but I'll do what I can."

Xavier smiled. "Thank you, Nathan."

From out of the woods, a shot rang out, splitting the air. Nate fell down, pushed by Talia, who had a spreading crimson stain on her shoulder.

Henry had heard the shot, and leapt out of his tent, over the fire, and to Talia's side in a single bound.

"Talia!" Henry screamed. "She's been shot, doctor! Magdalena, we need you!"

Nate helped Xavier and Henry lay Talia out, then stood, peering into the trees to see where the shot had come from.

Another shot blasted the camp and took Xavier in the back. He cried out, thrown to the ground.

"Doc Xavier!" Henry shouted. "Magdalena!" He cried out again.

Bobby and Lil were in the center of the camp now. Figures rushed in from the forest, dressed in dark red and black uniforms. "We've got the dangerous ones," their leader cried. "The nets, boys!"

Large nets fell down from the tree branches overhead. One of them fell down across Lil, the other over Bobby, and pulled them away, into the darkness.

"Who's this here?" One of the attackers shouted at Nate. Nate put his hands up as Henry rose, leaping to take the man apart. But another blast boomed behind him, and Henry fell.

"You're coming with us, boy," the leader said, a tall man, with long, curly red hair.

"You're comin with us, or you're gonna die," he held out his rifle and poked it against Nate's chest.


End file.
